What About Tomorrow?

She'd been awake for at least an hour, working hard to keep her eyes closed and her breaths even. It had been well more than a week since she'd gotten a restful night, but she made no attempt to return to bliss of sleep. There would be time for peace and solitude in the coming days, that time wasn't now.

She didn't need to look to know what was waiting for her. She could sense the eyes watching as certainly as she could feel the weight of the other body next to her on the bed. She heard the occasionally whispered word from her left and the heat of a hand caressing her upturned hip in a lazy, rhythmic pattern was impossible to ignore.

"Are you awake?" the voice asked her gently.

"I am," she declared simply. It would be easier to feign sleep, but she didn't. There would be enough cause to lie today, there was no point in beginning before it was absolutely necessary.

"Have you been awake long?" the Queen asked, the slight edge in her voice making it clear she already suspected the truth.

"A while," she answered vaguely. The gently petting of her hip moved to her thigh and stopped when Arya finally opened her eyes. After a few quick blinks the room came into focus. On any other day she might have been pleased to find Daenerys naked, boosted up an elbow, studying her with fevered dedication but not today. Today was their last.

She attempted to roll away, to put a small measure of distance between their bodies, if only so it would be easier to go, but Daenerys refused to release her. As she pressed her lips into the crease of Arya's neck she wondered aloud, "Is it wrong if I don't want this moment to end?"

Was it wrong? Probably. If it was, Arya knew she was the most wretched thing that ever walked. Given half a chance, she'd murder the world for the slightest possibility it might prolong their time together, but the Gods didn't smile down on Starks in such ways. She pulled away from Daenerys's lips and turned her head toward the older woman, intending to reassure her but the sight of tears shining in her beautiful eyes froze her tongue and she had to swallow down the sudden lump in her throat. Taking advantage of the indecision Daenerys claimed her and the two shared a heated kiss.

Arya kissed back, fully aware it would only make things worse. When it was over she slipped away. This time when Daenerys tried to keep her in bed, Arya tugged her way free. Sitting on the side of the bed she covered her face with her hands.

"It doesn't seem fair that we only get so little time," she commented, doing what she could to appear casual. "Half a year isn't very long."

"Life rarely gives us what we think we deserve," Arya said with clarity, aware of this lesson more than almost any other she'd learned in life. If a person was granted what they deserved, surely her path would have been different, wouldn't it? The thought made her tense.

Almost instantly she felt the tender touch of her lover's roaming hands on her scarred shoulders and back, trying to ease her discomfort. Arya didn't want to be cared for, she didn't deserve it. None of this was meant for her. She stood and took a deliberate step out of Daenerys's reach. Perhaps if she didn't know the other woman quite so well, so intimately, she might have missed the subtle way her breath hitched when Arya refused her. That ignorance would have been a blessing.

Even with ample evidence and plenty of practice it still amazed her how drastically things could change in such a short time. The night before felt like a lifetime ago. She'd been in the middle of a loud and raucous drinking game with Mormont soldiers when a deceptively strong hand gripped hers, pulled her away from her drink and into bed, all without a word. She'd gone willingly not nearly drunk enough to justify her actions. Behind the privacy of a closed door it was desperate and wild. Now that hunger was gone, replaced by only sadness and regret. They both knew what was coming. It turned her stomach.

As she searched the floor for her discarded clothes she could feel the burn of fresh scratch marks. If that weren't enough, there was a red blemish on her breast and she guessed another on the side of her neck, where Daenerys had lavished no shortage of attention. Under other circumstances it might have been possible to dismiss the markings as hasty, drunken lust gone awry, but Arya knew better. Daenerys's every action was deliberate and purposeful, and this was no different. The Queen had branded her just as permanently as the House of Black and White once had. One more reminder of something she would never be able to forget.

She kept her back to Daenerys as she dressed, listening to the quiet shuffling of the sheets as she moved on the bed alone. She was reaching for her boots when the Targaryen spoke again, destroying any hope that Arya might escape without further discussion. "I don't want this."

While she didn't mean for it to happen, a frustrated grunt slipped past her tightly closed lips without permission. Why? Why were they having this conversation again? They'd talked the subject to death for the past several weeks. Doing so again, right before they parted would only add salt to an already open wound, for the both of them.

Annoyed as she was, she still couldn't let Daenerys think she didn't care, so she offered what little she could. Acceptance. "I know," she said, barely loud enough for anyone to hear.

She'd hoped her acknowledgement would be enough, but as it was with many other things, she was wrong. Somehow Daenerys took her reply as an opening. "I have to do this. It's not what I want, but…"

This time when she growled in protest it wasn't accidental. "I know," she tried again, with force.

And the truth was, she did know. She knew all the reasons they needed to do this. Why this night, this final encounter would be their last. Arya had told herself they were through before, but this time she had to mean it. For everyone's sake.

Westeros was in chaos, in no small part thanks to her. When she killed Walder Frey and all of his offspring she left the Twins ripe for Cersei to seize. She should have known better than to give the Lioness such an opportunity, but her hate had been her only concern at the time. Likewise, when she slit Littlefinger's throat, to avenge her mother and father they lost a portion of support from the Vale. With him dead by her hand, many opposed her, regardless of how valid her motives. To make matters worse, Cersei had surrendered Casterly Rock with little resistance and took High Garden with its gold and grain instead. Lady Olenna was dead, Yara Greyjoy and Ellaria Sand were captured and likely being tortured if they too hadn't gone off to meet their Gods. All of that and she had yet to consider the Night King. The Wall was understaffed, one of Daenerys's dragons had been slain and an army approached. The Realm needed this, so she agreed, but logic held little sway. Needed or not, it wasn't easy.

Arya's hand was on the door when Daenerys pushed the knife even further. "I could say 'no'," she proposed.

A tiny flicker of hope lit in the deepest part of her and she hated it. Yes, it was true, Daenerys could refuse but then what? Between Bran and the Priestess, they'd told them in no uncertain terms what would happen next. The chaos they'd created would bloom into disaster and madness. Wars would start in each of the Seven Kingdoms and hundreds of thousands would die, including many she held dear.

She should have kept going through the door as if she hadn't heard, but foolishly she didn't. She turned back and found Daenerys sitting on the bed, with streaks of tears running down her cheeks. She made no attempt to wipe them away. "It's not that simple," she said struggling to get the words out. "If you don't…"

This time it was Daenerys who wasn't interested in letting her finish. "We could find another way. There has to be another way!" she said, her volume rising with each word. "With Bran's help we could find one, a better one."

If only it were that simple. If Daenerys only knew how many hours she spent with her crippled, all-seeing brother, searching the past, the present and every possible future they all held, hunting for a solution. As she grew more desperate in her attempts, the visions Bran saw became more and more horrific. He spoke of futures worse than her nightmares, ones she couldn't let come to pass. "This is the only way," she said, giving voice to her fear. "If we don't go our separate ways now, people will die, too many people!"

In a blink Daenerys was off the bed, standing there with fire in her eyes, every bit a Dragon. "Maybe I could live with that!" she said as confidently as she could manage. To Arya's ears it sounded forced and hollow and she was sure it was. Her voice lowered, and softened when she added, "Maybe that's better than letting you go,"

If only, Arya thought for the second time in less than a minute. If Daenerys were willing to tolerate the senseless deaths of innocents to get what she wanted, the wars would already be won. She could have stormed the Red Keep within days of making landfall in Westeros. Her dragons could have burned holes in the stones, killing soldiers and smallfolk alike and her armies of Dothraki savages and freed slaves could have flooded in to murder her enemies. Once she ruled the Seven Kingdoms she could have demanded the aid and armies of every house great and small and together they could have rid the world of the Undead forever, but she wouldn't allow it. She refused to win at the expense of so many who didn't ask for any of this. That was what would make her a good queen – a better queen than Cersei – once she had the throne, but it's also why she wasn't sitting on the damn chair of blades already. Her unwillingness to let people die for her was an admirable trait in a woman with intentions of governing, but a far less successful one in a warrior.

Daenerys reached out and took her hand. When Arya didn't snatch it back, she took this as an invitation to weave their fingers together. Shoulders sagged slightly, and she closed her eyes, gathering her thoughts in preparation for her first lie of the day. "You're doing the right thing," she said, even as the words tasted like acid on her lips. "This will bring victory, then peace and prosperity to the Realm and beyond. It's what's best for the people and for you."

Before she knew what was happening Arya was locked in a tight embrace. "I'm no so sure," the Khaleesi mumbled against her chest.

"It is," she lied again, hoping it sounded more convincing to Daenerys than it did to her. "The Priestess says you'll have a child, maybe more than one."

It was a dirty trick, using Daenerys's desire to be a mother against her, but Arya was out of acceptable options. She needed to go before she lost the willpower to leave all together. If she didn't flee soon, she'd surrender to Daenerys's pleas and everyone they loved would pay for her weakness.

"I don't care about that!" she answered defiantly. Arya smiled against the pain she felt. Apparently, Daenerys was in the mood to lie too.

She kissed the top of the Queen's silver hair and savored its smell and silky feel. "Yes, you do," she corrected.

It took a moment, but Daenerys's anger melted away, just as suddenly as it appeared. "Okay," she acknowledged, "I do care, but just because I'm going to have a child doesn't mean…"

This was another conversation they'd had repeatedly. So frequently in fact that Arya was certain Daenerys could speak every word from memory alone, just as surely as Arya herself could. She made the mistake of looking down just as Daenerys happened to peek up. When their eyes locked together Arya knew it was time. Her resistance was nearly gone. "I need to go," she said as she pried herself away from the woman she adored.

This time she managed to get the door open a crack before Daenerys's flawless arm lashed out to slam it closed again. "Not yet," she challenged. "Arya! Wait please."

In all her life, she'd never met another person who could shatter her with so little effort, so few words. A large part of her wanted to lock the door, wrap Daenerys in her arms and take her back to bed, consequences for the world be damned. She almost did, but mercifully or tragically, the choice was taken from her by Missandei's arrival to prepare her Queen for the upcoming day.

"Your Grace," she said in greeting. Opening the door, she forced Daenerys and Arya to step aside to accommodate her entrance. Upon realizing Daenerys wasn't alone, the advisor was immediately remorseful, eyes downcast. "I'm so sorry, your Grace…"

Arya took one final glance at Daenerys and saw her lips part as though she intended to speak. Arya needed to be first. "That's alright Missandei," she said as she commanded her head to turn away from Daenerys's violet eyes. "I was just leaving."

While she and Missandei danced together to make space between themselves, the door and an unmoving Daenerys, the naked Dragon tried to resist. "Arya, wait!" she called. "You don't need to leave today, do you?" She didn't wait for an answer before she ploughed ahead. "You could…"

This was it, her last chance to salvage what they had, but she couldn't do it. She couldn't sacrifice everything and everyone she loved for her own happiness. The Arya who recited her list of names at night, who prayed for the violent, painful deaths of all those who wronged her, she might have stayed, but in their short time together Daenerys had taught her a different way. "I'm sorry," she said sincerely, for so much more than just her leaving, "but I need to be a hundred miles away before tomorrow."

"Why?" Daenerys asked childishly, although the reason was rather obvious.

"Because," she justified. "I can't stand beside the Weirwood Tree where we first met and watch you marry my brother."

R-C

Author's Note:

Thank you for reading. I intended to write this late last year, but my health didn't cooperate, so I was forced to delay. After I posted "What She Does When No One's Watching" I decided to try my hand at a separation that was filled with more angst and pain. I'm not sure if this will remain a one-shot or if it will become something longer, I truly haven't decided.

Please feel free to let me know what you think.

Take Care

Russell Craig